


Hold me down, keep me safe

by TheSingerThatYouWanted (orphan_account)



Category: Nathan Barley (TV)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Tw- suicide attempt mention, mental health, offscreen but yeah, tw- self harm mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheSingerThatYouWanted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, Jones copes. Some days he falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold me down, keep me safe

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I apologise for the stupid title. I'm in a bit of a hurry and titles have never been my strong suit. The idea for this was from the wonderful joyeuxnoelfielding on Tumblr, who was kind enough to give me a few headcanons to play with. And now I really must get that biology essay done.

Jones always knew when it was coming. He could feel it, feel the energy crackling through him like the air before a storm. Terrifying, exhilarating, the power to create unbelievable beauty marred only by the destruction it left behind. It had always been there, like a threat or a weight hanging over his head ever since he was a kid. They'd called him a troublemaker at school, but he'd never meant it. It was just that barely a day went by until his skin would buzz and then his fingers would twitch and tap on the tables, pick up a pencil to twirl, and that was enough until suddenly it wasn't and his chair was clattering to the floor as he drew across the table, the walls, his own skin, patterns that swirled and danced, harsh zigzags that seemed softer than they should be.  
He'd cried when they took him to the head teacher's office. The big man had sat there, in the high-backed chair that was taller than Jones was. He'd listened to the teacher and nodded gravely. Jones had tried to block out the sound of their voices, hands over his ears and tears streaming silently down his face as all the energy left him and he felt emptier than he ever had before. And then the head teacher had frowned and looked down, down at the scared little boy with the long hair who sucked his thumb and dragged Biro across his skin without caring if he bled, and muttered that maybe this school wasn't the place for him.  
It had only gotten worse from there. The episodes were further apart but they started lasting for hours, then days. By the time he was in his twenties he was going weeks at a time on only a few hours of sleep. He didn't care- he just poured it all into the music, discovering a natural talent for DJing. He worked at it relentlessly, every night and day until the inevitable crash. He didn't sleep much any more. When he fell down he cushioned the impact with cigarettes and drink and lines etched deep into his arms, passing out on the battered old sofa he called home.  
When he met Dan he'd tried to clean up his act, make a good impression. The scars on his arms were easily concealed with the help of make-up and wristbands. Any other scars were invisible to the passing glance.  
Soon he learned that Dan was in no state to be observant.  
It started with small things. Dan would come home late, citing overdue articles and last-minute edits. Jones always smiled, apologised, and shut down his decks. As soon as Dan's eyes were closed he'd drink three cups of coffee and start again, listening through his headphones at ten times the normal volume as though it could drown out the screaming in his skull. After a while Dan stopped asking him to turn the music off. Soon he couldn't sleep unless Jones was there, drinking whiskey as though it was water and falling back to the sound of the music. He stopped combing his hair, brushing his teeth.  
Jones was no stranger to that feeling. He made songs just for Dan just to help him sleep, trying his best to see his best- only- friend get the peace he himself so desperately craved. He'd fight the crashes for as long as he could, barely eating or drinking anything other than his hourly cups of coffee as the shakes began to creep through his system. More often than not he would simply pass out as soon as Dan left for work, or at least whatever passed for work those days. He was too exhausted to hurt any more.  
Eventually it got too much, just as he'd known it would. The nagging doubts in his mind grew louder with every day he saw Dan growing miserable, screaming at him that he wasn't and would never be good enough. When Dan jumped, Jones refused to believe it. He started writing on the walls again. There was no longer anyone who could ground him. Without Dan's gravity he could feel himself spinning out of control, the words and pictures growing more and more nonsensical and frightening as he flew, muscles screaming, heart in pieces, chasing the urge to create because it was all he had left.  
When Dan came home, he was sober and in a better state of mind than Jones had ever known him. When Dan came home, Jones was a wreck.  
Dan picked him up, bit by bit, piece by piece. The scraps of Jones he saw before him were painstakingly put back together. The walls were painted over in Jones' favourite shade of blue. The music still played, but never for weeks, never as loud. Jones found himself playing for fun rather than necessity. Claire had moved in with Nathan now. Dan insisted he have the bed, and Jones was equally insistent that it should belong to Dan. Eventually, and rather reluctantly, Dan took it. For Jones, who was so used to the sofa, the bed seemed uncomfortable and lonely. Some nights, though, when Dan slept there, he would creep in beside him. There was no music playing, but there didn't have to be. The beating of Dan's heart under his ear was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these characters either, a fact which continues to disappoint me, but I do enjoy watching them run around. Comments, as always, are amazing :)


End file.
